Justice Never Sleeps
by Evil Icing
Summary: Nor does it misplace important items, miss mandatory appointments, or wake up next to convicted felons... [Pre-Dual Destinies. Blackbright.]


"Good morning, Prosecutor Blackquill!"

There is no mistaking that booming voice, full of unwavering eagerness and commitment. It echoes, bouncing powerfully off the walls of the cell.

Simon Blackquill opens his eyes; the greeting has no meaning to him, personally, as he figures that to have a good morning would require one to actually have gone to sleep in the first place. There's no need to explain this to anyone, however... it's clear by the way his eyes are sunken in and heavy underneath the thick fringe of his hair that he's not had a good morning in many _years_ of mornings.

Yet Fulbright greets him enthusiastically like always, never treating him different than he treats any other living soul in this pitiless dungeon. To him, all people are equal and deserve to have "good mornings", regardless of whether they're currently serving time or serving justice.

But in here, time is a blur and it is meaningless. Blackquill prefers to think of time as a single, run-on day. Never-ending.

"Mr. Warden said I could go on ahead of him and get you ready while he finishes up some of your paperwork," Fulbright informs him as he unlocks his cell, entering swiftly. He holds out some shackles in front of him and they clink loudly, a sharp noise that Blackquill is reluctant to hear. "I know you hate them, sir, but I'm afraid you'll have to wear them today since you're going outside."

"You don't need to remind me, Fool Bright," he replies harshly, though he tries his hardest not to let his sullied mood take itself out on Fulbright; he's only doing his job, as he always does. He stands slowly, hesitantly. "Your duty is merely... a double-edged sword to me, you understand."

Fulbright frowns as he considers this, and he assumes it's a correct reaction to such a statement. Blackquill holds out his arms in front of him. "Well, what are you waiting for, then? Permission?"

"A-Ah, yes sir! Right!"

Fulbright begins the process. The metal is cold on Blackquill's wrists, cold enough to make him pull back at first, though Fulbright is always gentle—much more gentle than most—when applying the restraints. He locks them securely before he lets go, returning to his post at the cell door.

"Today won't be so bad, sir," Fulbright assures him, as though he's seen his future and feels it's his sworn duty to relay it to him. "It'll be just like last time. Your last therapy session went quicker than expected!"

"Easy for you to say, considering you weren't the one having to entertain that daft charlatan," Blackquill says darkly, but a slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lip.

Fulbright raises his hands defensively, though hardly amused. "I wish you would give him a chance, even if it's just this _one_ time. Sometimes it helps to talk about things..."

"I haven't 'talked about things' in six years, Fool Bright... what makes you think I have any intentions of starting _now_?"

They lock eyes for a moment, and Fulbright regards him carefully. "Well, you've talked to _me_ before, sir. You've talked to me about lots of things."

Blackquill squints his eyes at him, an unspoken warning, though he can't say it's untrue. "Well... you can consider yourself among the few, then."

He can tell by the way that Fulbright suddenly lights up that he does, truly, consider himself lucky on all accounts. They both have grown almost comfortable in their recent partnership; Blackquill has already been allowed to offer counsel to several criminal cases, and Fulbright has yet to stop encouraging him that he's doing the right thing ( _"for justice!")_. This is a step he must take, he knows, if he wishes to finally stand in court again as a prosecutor. Though in shackles, it is an honor few—if any—have achieved the way he hopefully would be in the near future.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective."

Blackquill doesn't have to look to know the voice belongs to the prison warden. He's seen enough of the man for a lifetime, although for Blackquill... he often forgets his definition of "lifetime" spans differently than most.

The man's not unfair, but he's also skeptical of Blackquill in a demeaning way that bothers him more than it should.

"Not at all!" Fulbright calls to him. "We were just finishing up here." He turns to Blackquill for confirmation. "Ready, Prosecutor Blackquill?"

Before he is even allowed to answer Fulbright, the warden cuts him off, shaking his head disdainfully as he hands Fulbright a file—presumably Blackquill's, because it's heavy and worn with several years' age. Full of many ridiculous evaluations, statements, personal data, false information, corrupt charges, therapy logs...

"I trust this will go as smoothly as the last time we allowed this appointment, with good, _sound_ reports." He says it to Fulbright, but he's looking at Blackquill questionably.

Blackquill sneers. He's _truly_ not in the mood for this today. He stabs a finger almost threateningly into his own temple. "If it's my sanity in question—"

"You can count on me, Sir!" Fulbright beams between them, a quick salute punctuating his enthusiasm; Blackquill realizes he's probably in debt to him for intervening. He reaches for his side holster urgently, as he always does. "In justice we—"

Though something happens that Blackquill cannot ignore; Fulbright comes to an abrupt stop mid-sentence, and Blackquill can't quite pinpoint the look on his face. He's confused as much as distracted now, and drops his hand without even finishing his favorite line. Even the warden seems suspicious, although Blackquill assumes he's never truly been able to trust Fulbright _either_ , for some odd reason. Perhaps it's because of association with _him._ Although Fulbright has never seemed to mind, it bothers Blackquill greatly that he's suddenly a burden to the devoted detective's reputation.

"Um, r-right," Fulbright continues, hiding something underneath his expression. "We're off, then. Come along, Prosecutor Blackquill!" He smirks confidently, but it's uncharacteristically forced.

Blackquill obeys as Fulbright gives a tug to his shackles. Fulbright is definitely in a stranger mood than just a moment ago, and he's not sure he, himself, is in the mood to handle that. His patience is thin today, stretched out too far to be able to balance Fulbright's afflictions on top of his own.

His curiosity is still piqued, however, as they make their way outside and to the car. Something very important is bothering Fulbright, and Blackquill can't deny wanting to know the truth of _why._ Though it's not odd for them to sit quietly in the car, usually the air is never this tense; Blackquill wishes to cut through it in a single strike.

"Fool Bright," he quietly initiates, apparently snapping him out of deep concentration.

"Sir?!" Fulbright practically shouts, jumping out of his skin. He gives Blackquill a concerned look through the mirror.

"I was going to ask if something is troubling you, but there's no need for a such a... useless question."

Fulbright breaks their eye contact to laugh, though it's clear he's gathering his words carefully. "Troubling me...? O-Of course not, sir, what a silly thing to say!"

"From the way I see it, the only thing silly here is that _you_ think you can hide something from _me_..." Blackquill's voice is low, suggestive of his fleeting tolerance. Does Fulbright not trust him like he so valiantly claims he does? Perhaps he feels, on the inside, that his loyalty is misplaced. Blackquill pushes his self-conscious thoughts aside as he waits for an answer with some shred of truth to it. Unless it's true that Fulbright doesn't consider him worthy of the truth. Maybe it's something personal, something Fulbright could hardly confide in him about. Or maybe the words of the warden have gotten through to him more than usual, and he's having second thoughts about escorting him from place to place... being his handler has possibly taken its toll.

"It's... it's nothing really..."

Another boldfaced lie. Blackquill feels himself tense. "You're still keeping things from me," he accuses. "This isn't the direction of the _medical institution_ , now is it, Fool Bright? Could it be you think _I'm_ the fool here?"

"N-No!" Fulbright bites his lip hard, his eyes suddenly hidden by the glare of his lenses. "Of course not, Prosecutor Blackquill... I just..."

Not that many know it, but Blackquill himself knows what it's like to feel afraid of telling the truth. It's his fear of the truth, sometimes, that reminds him how much of a liar he truly is. He hates to see Fulbright, too, struggle with the words he desperately wants to say. "It's like you said not too long ago," he says, pausing a moment to ensure he's following. "Sometimes it does good to speak with others... unless you were trying to lure me with a coward's empty words."

"I'd never do that!" Fulbright assures him without a beat. "I meant everything I said..."

"Hmph. As I've told _you_ many things, maybe now it's your turn to tell me things... about you."

Fulbright's almost surprised as he translates Blackquill's words through his mind. He's relieved now, Blackquill can see it in his eyes, though he didn't expect it'd be _that_ easy to convince him to spill it.

"You're right, Prosecutor Blackquill, just like you always are... th-thank you, I... I'll tell you... I'll tell you what's bothering me!"

* * *

As the car comes to a stop, Blackquill finds himself digging his nails into the upholstery of the backseat. "F-Fool Bright, you've truly outdone yourself this time," and there's no hint of praise in his voice as he hisses it quietly. "Of all things for you to bothered about, and it's something as meaningless and _trivial_ as this..."

It's not true; this stop is anything but trivial to Fulbright, and Blackquill knows this. Even still, he cannot calm the flustered emotions within him.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you know I just can't go on without it!"

"And here you had me in suspense, thinking that you had a legitimate problem and in need of some assistance, and you tell me the reason you are at wits' end is because you've lost your _badge_?!"

Fulbright's seat belt snaps off of him as he sighs, wincing in pain at the mention of his missing badge. "I... I didn't _lose_ it, I'm sure I've only misplaced it somewhere!"

Blackquill ignores the remark completely; he takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Can I not... simply... stay in the car while you search for it...?"

"No can do, sir, you know I have to keep an eye on you at all times!" Fulbright says, and it's supposed to sound purely professional but he's surprisingly chipper again. "Besides, I... can you show you around, you know? Get you a drink? Let you sit back and relax while I look around? I bet it's been a while since you've watched TV!""

Fulbright's positive suggestions only succeed in making him all the more apprehensive. He isn't sure why he's so bothered, so utterly _terrified_ , of entering the home of Bobby Fulbright. Blackquill can't remember the last time he's been invited into someone's residence, and he certainly never thought it'd be a possibility now that he was serving time as a death row inmate. By an officer of the _law_ , no less.

Fulbright is looking back at him hopefully through the mirror again, and he seems to be just as nervous himself, though he's trying to hide it. The thought of Fulbright trusting him enough to let him inside, regardless of the ridiculous circumstances...

How in blazes could someone like Fulbright lose his police badge? Blackquill can't count on both of their hands combined how many times a day he sees the damned thing when Fulbright's around, and of all times... he mysteriously "misplaces" it? How was that even possible, or even inside the realm of possibility? He imagines the fool carries it with him even when he's not on duty... perhaps even to bed, holding onto it proudly in his sleep... Blackquill quickly stops himself, wondering why he would even think of such an inappropriate thing. Knowing Fulbright, he probably doesn't sleep anyways, nor is it any business of _his_.

And yet here they are, parked outside the apartment complex as though they are returning home together from a normal, uneventful day at work. Blackquill dismisses the thought quickly. His thoughts are becoming strangely unfamiliar to him, thoughts he'd rather not claim as his own. He's embarrassed by how his imagination threatens to betray him today. He blames it on his nerves, the stress of being cooped up like a bird in a cage for so many years. That's truly, truly all it is. It even explains why he's so nervous to go inside Fulbright's home, which is undoubtedly much larger than his cramped cell. There are logical explanations for everything in the world...

Fulbright opens the car door for him, staring down at him warmly. "I'll only be a minute, sir. I'm sure it's here somewhere."

Everything except Detective Bobby Fulbright.

They're lucky no one is around, Blackquill realizes, considering the cuffs on his hands make it clear he's not a... normal house guest. Anyone would be unnerved to see a man walking around their apartment complex in broad daylight, bound in chains. Fulbright's apartment is on the first floor, close to where they're parked, and it's just as well.

Fulbright barely keeps his eyes on him as he fumbles with his keys, and then the lock, and Blackquill doesn't know if it's because he trusts him this much or if he's simply that naive. He could have easily already sprinted away, snatched his keys from him... escaped the scene. Of course, he doesn't—he _wouldn't_. Though Blackquill may be a criminal, around Fulbright he knows there is no reason to act like one. They both know the truth, and they both know that Blackquill is searching for a justice far deeper than the chains that bind him now.

The justice he seeks is something he cannot attain by simply _running away._ Even then, he'd still be a prisoner all the same.

"After you, sir," Fulbright speaks up suddenly, and he's smiling from ear to ear.

Blackquill says nothing as Fulbright's arm guides him through the frame of the door, and though his eyes are closed, he knows he's inside now.

* * *

The thought of Fulbright's apartment has never even crossed his mind. Right now, the only thing he's thinking of is how he'd much _rather_ be at that routine therapy appointment he'd been dreading all month.

Yet here he is, crossing the doorstep into Fulbright's domain in one simple step.

He feels carpet beneath his feet, and as he musters the courage to open his eyes, the place looks much less threatening than he had imagined. In fact, though a little too colorful for his tastes, it's fairly ordinary. It's plain and simple in the way that his cell is dark and temporary.

Perhaps this experience will benefit him in some way, he decides, as Fulbright steps past him.

"Hmm, I have a few ideas of where it might be..." he mumbles before turning back to face him. "Sir, don't worry, you're free to explore! Just don't leave, of course!" He laughs, despite Blackquill's eyes shifting about, unsure. "Have a seat, here!"

He walks over and practically leads him like a lamb to slaughter. Blackquill manages to lower himself awkwardly onto the sofa—it has a retro look to it, a faded, xanthic yellow color, a piece of furniture that is clearly older than Fulbright himself. In fact, much of the scenery seems to adhere to this pattern, he notices. He thinks to ask him, for a moment, but realizes he's already sprinted off towards what he assumes to be the kitchen area.

So much for "keeping his eyes on him" at all times... _tsk_. Blackquill fidgets, considering how much simpler his life would be if he could be waiting in the car right now. As usual, Fulbright's logic has yet to amount to much sense.

"The remote for the TV's on the couch. Make yourself at home, sir!" he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into the room, and Blackquill winces... _home_.

To Fulbright, this place is home—a place to return to, an arrangement of walls to perform activities of any kind in secret, to pass time idly by. It's a luxury Blackquill has forgotten, as his "home" is behind prison bars. It isn't a place to return to, it's a place he hardly _leaves_ to begin with. Although he hasn't completely forgotten his real home, the place he had grown up in, it was a place shrouded with bittersweet memories of his family. His parents, his sister... they had all lived together in a place like this, and it seems like almost a lifetime ago.

Blackquill snaps himself out of these thoughts; they'd do him no good now. His eyes dart to a medium-sized television staring back at him from across the room. It's a much nicer television than the one he owned back at his old home, though it brings back memories all the same. He curiously eyes the remote sitting fairly close to his hand. Fulbright had given him permission, after all...

He snatches it up quickly, and his eyes widen as he realizes how different and complicated this remote control looks compared to what he's used to. He knows technology is improving constantly, but _this_ is ridiculous. Why are there so many buttons for one single piece of equipment?!

A bright red button, however, at the left corner of the remote makes him confident. Everyone knows what a bright, red POWER button means, and Blackquill is proudly no exception. He clicks it, remote aimed confidently at the device in question.

The TV greets him with an earth-shattering roar, an onslaught of torturous static—he's startled so much that he can't even focus on the remote in his hands. "Damn it!" he curses under his breath, his fingers frantically searching for the volume control, though he realizes it's flipped upside down now and he only succeeds in making it _louder_. He's positive that Fulbright has already been alerted to his activity.

"E-Everything going okay in there?" Fulbright shouts, though his voice is accompanied by the shattering of glass and metal hitting the floor. It sounds as though he's rummaging through a cabinet.

"The same could be asked of _you_ right now," Blackquill snaps back. He manages to turn down the volume, at least enough to regain his senses. "I-Is all that clatter necessary, Fool Bright? Do you normally keep your precious badge in with your pots and pans?" He sighs in relief as he manages to adjust to TV to an actual channel and not a brainwashing static screen, though he's hardly paying attention to it.

"I'm sorry, sir! I'm only trying to rush so we can get back on schedule...!" Again, his voice is almost drowned out by unusual sounds. "And I'm just checking... I can't help it, I lose things in strange places sometimes..."

Blackquill frowns, looking around the room cautiously as he waits. Fulbright appears to be a very tidy person, he can't imagine anything getting lost here. There's hardly anything out of order, and all kinds of strange trinkets and figures line the many shelves upon the walls, perfectly aligned and sorted. He's quite surprised, really, that this place belongs to Fulbright until he sees a medium-sized fish bowl in the corner; of course Fool Bright would own a pet fish. It's news that Taka is bound to be happy about, at least. Blackquill thinks he notices a goldfish emerge from a tiny sunken ship among the rocks, until he's interrupted by Fulbright once again.

"Sir, I didn't know you liked game shows... so do I!" beams Fulbright's voice through the wall.

Blackquill squirms further into the sofa, realizing the volume is still quite loud. He begins absently flipping through channels. "I like _no such thing_...! Have you found it yet?! I'm growing tired of waiting..."

Fulbright doesn't answer this time. Blackquill realizes that he is, in fact, quite tired... though not of waiting. It's been such a long time since he's been allowed to relax like this, and perhaps feel normal for once. Though he'd likely never admit it aloud, Fulbright has done him a favor today, in a sense. It's definitely a break from the monotony of prison bars. Besides, he's taken quite a liking to this couch and his eyes are becoming heavy as he tries to focus on the game show—he's somehow made his way back to this channel, except this time it's _muted—_ and everything about the atmosphere of the room is making him far too comfortable.

He can't remember much after that, because everything around him suddenly dies out in a quiet whisper.

* * *

He's not normally used to this ethereal feeling upon awakening. It doesn't take long for Blackquill to realize he's been sleeping, and it's no surprise; with the apparent exception of this short nap, he hasn't slept a wink in three days now. The sofa is soft—much softer than the sheeted board that belongs to him in the clink. When his eyes flutter open, he can hear the quiet buzz of the television game show in the background (he distinctly remembers _muting_ that), the hum of the electricity in the building—a gentle snore tickling his ear from nearby.

His eyes are still trying to focus as he shifts, suddenly aware of a mysterious weight on his left shoulder that has him almost anchored to his seat.

His eyes are completely open now, though his eyelids still feel heavy when he blinks. He looks once—twice, no three times, even—as he discovers the source of the weight pressed against him. Fulbright is sleeping peacefully beside him... he's balanced on his shoulder, a position that looks far too uncomfortable to even _sit_ in, let alone fall asleep. Blackquill overreacts before he even considers the idea, quickly attempting to jump up at his discovery. His movement stirs Fulbright in a way that startles him, too, and he yelps as his head collides roughly with Blackquill's shoulder once again.

"F-Fool Bright," Blackquill grunts, flustered as he shrugs him off _roughly_ in the other direction. " _Bloody hell_! What is the meaning of this?!"

Fulbright looks as though he's been brought back from the dead, almost delirious as he tries to comprehend. "Prosecutor Blackquill...? Why are you here... huh?"

"Should I even have to inform you that you've been sleeping? _Now_ , in your failed watch, you've fallen asleep next to a convicted murderer... where is the _justice_ in that...!"

At the mention of justice, Fulbright is sobered almost completely. He jumps up fast, pacing about as he cradles his face in his palms. "I'm so sorry, sir, please think nothing of it! I didn't mean to fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes for a minute, you see... it's been such a rough day, and I noticed you had fallen asleep, sir! You looked so happy, and I couldn't bring myself to wake you—I _know_ how little you sleep these days—"

Blackquill can hardly form a semi-rational thought as Fulbright rambles, searching for excuses to somehow move past this situation they're in. Blackquill keeps his head low, cursing himself, disappointed that he could possibly allow something ridiculous like this to happen... to allow someone to catch him at his most vulnerable, regardless of whether or not that someone happens to be Fulbright. It was true, he was sleeping well— _too_ well, in fact, and in that case what Fulbright was saying did appear to be true. He'd fallen asleep while allowing _him_ to sleep just a little longer. He growls under his breath; he's told Fulbright many times now that he does not require neither his pity nor his sympathy... Fulbright's innate compassion is almost patronizing, and Blackquill can hardly understand why it troubles him so...!

Why can't Fulbright just treat him like a criminal, like the others do—the way he _deserves_ to be treated? They wouldn't be in this mess if Fulbright hadn't had his priorities mixed up the way he did, his own personal sense of "justice" sometimes colliding with the unnatural way he went about his crusade against all he considered unfair in light of the current legal system.

"What time is it—" Fulbright asks rhetorically, checking his wristwatch in a hurry, although he already knows by the lack of daylight coming in through the window; his face reveals his thoughts perfectly, without him even having to answer his own dreaded question.

He was _finished_.

"Prosecutor Blackquill, y-your... your therapy appointment!" he exclaims. They had both clearly forgotten all about it after taking this detour... _several_ hours ago. "We're late... we're... _beyond_ late, it's already way past your curfew, even... and it's... it's..."

 _All my fault._ Blackquill knows the thought that is haunting him, and it's not a sentiment he's unfamiliar with. Of course this is a matter of life and death for Fulbright, he's never shirked his duties like this before—Blackquill hears much too often of his shining, spotless record as a detective... though he's sure that Fulbright has other exaggerated terms for his almost blind dedication to justice.

Fulbright is still wildly animated in the background, still pacing, still _apologizing_. He's practically groveling as if he'd literally shot them both in the foot. The tension, the stress... it's all enough to finally force Blackquill's hand. Fulbright needs intervention, clearly, though Blackquill highly wonders what even his powers of suggestion could help at this point. He does know that Fulbright needs his reassurance, however, if they are to overcome this situation and escape with their sanities intact. His counsel will most likely fall upon deaf ears, but...

"Fool Bright, you need to calm your—"

He grips tight—maybe _too_ tight—on one of Fulbright's flailing wrists and pulls; in a moment that goes far too fast he falls unceremoniously on top of him as they sink further into the sofa.

Blackquill manages to catch him, but it's with his lips and he isn't sure why they're suddenly kissing harshly, and he wonders why Fulbright isn't stopping him, returning the kisses with a few strangled grunts as he regains his balance atop him.

Fulbright's glasses have flown off somewhere during the commotion, and he's looking at him now with wide, innocent eyes—so typical of the fool, really. They're close, still, so dangerously close; he's straddling Blackquill awkwardly, knees sunken into the couch cushions like quicksand. Blackquill is dumbfounded for a moment, still watching him, both of them struggling for words. The pounding in his heart is near deafening, and his nerves are twisted at the thought of what they've just done.

Closing his eyes, however, Blackquill decides to pursue further; he feels possessed as he leans in for another kiss. Before he can make contact, the weight on his lap is suddenly gone, and as he opens his eyes he hears a thump, followed by a harsh vibration below.

Fulbright has fallen backwards now, gathering himself frantically on the floor, somehow even finding his sunglasses and returning them nervously to his face. He's still tinted pink, but on the verge of tears as he flips up to stand. "Oh, Prosecutor Blackquill... what have I done?! I'm so sorry, look at me! I'm _still_ ruining your day, and...!"

"Fool Bright, must you always be so emotional? Stop this nonsense at once..."

"You don't have to say anything, Prosecutor Blackquill!" he continues loudly. "I-I just don't know what came over me, I—"

"Fool Bright..."

"—I'm not usually this careless, I promise! It just happened so fast, and then I fell, and then—"

" _Fool Bright_!" Blackquill stands quickly to his feet. He's eye to eye with him now, though his are squinted calmly. "I was the one... who caused this." For the first time since they've woken, Fulbright is unusually silent. "You can cease with your unnecessary apologies and excuses. It's... _all right_."

Fulbright's lip quivers, cautiously. "It... it is?"

"Of course it is, you fool," Blackquill answers. He tries hard to sound confident. "Do you think I'd allow you to live if it wasn't?"

He drops his gaze; he can't continue looking at the endearing way Fulbright is eyeing him.

"Sir, I... I..."

They are still uncomfortably close.

"I... um..." Fulbright's breath is almost a whisper, his face evident of his uncertainty in how to proceed. Things have changed between them in a way neither of them have clearly expected. "Well, I guess we really need to get you back..."

Blackquill watches him closely to see if he flinches as he slowly fills the remaining space between them. He does not. "...But do we, really? The damage has already been done, has it not? What's the harm in staying... a little longer..."

"A-Ah, sir, we're— _I'm_ already in so much trouble...! They're probably looking for us, e-even now!"

"You will not be punished, Fool Bright," Blackquill barely moves his lips. He isn't sure how his voice remains so calm, because inside he is the furthest thing from tranquil. "I can promise you that, but you must trust me..."

He feels Fulbright exhale, a short breath of laughter. "I always do, Prosecutor Blackquill... I always _have_."

He isn't sure which one of them seals the kiss now, but their lips have definitely met again, and this time it's far from accidental.

This time, it's urgent, it's necessary... it's everything intimate their first kiss had lacked. The delicate clumsiness of that kiss has come and gone, and now they're in much different territory. Blackquill can no longer control the way he's responding so fully to Fulbright's presence. It's beyond stoppable now, a situation that Blackquill knows he cannot manipulate any longer; it's strange how natural and primal this feels, for there is a void he's filling that he didn't know was empty.

The loud clink of chains echoes between them as Blackquill feels Fulbright make movements against him; his immaculate, white gloves are now snowy and pure against the black fabric of Blackquill's coat, followed by curious tugs in his dark, tangled strands. His hands are wandering, attentively, all over him in gentle strokes.

Blackquill wishes he could more freely explore his partner's body just the same, without these blasted cuffs in his way. Instead, he keeps his hands low, balancing bravely, teasingly, along the edges of Fulbright's belt buckle. If he objects to this personal invasion, he doesn't show it.

It's not what Blackquill expected such a personal display of affection to feel like; Fulbright's kisses are soft and lazy, yet full of underlying passion. His lips are still tingling from the sensation. Perhaps he's thinking too much, as begins to see this unexpected, escalating kiss as a battle of sorts. His lips are easy to control, to strike precisely on point much like a skillful slash of his katana; without thinking, he's deepened the kiss enough to experiment adding his tongue. At this, Fulbright only pulls him closer against him, his hands now resting on either side of Blackquill's face. The warmth is not unwelcome, but still new and liberating.

He hopes Fulbright doesn't feel the way he's trembling; thoughts of their situation suddenly cloud his mind... just a moment ago, he'd been so sure. But now...

He worried. Was this _wrong_? Was this course of action and the accompanying state of euphoria that came along with it nothing but a mistake? He worried how far this smothering display would go, and whether or not Fulbright himself even wanted it the way _he_ did. Surely his passionate stickler of a partner was conflicted just as much, if not more. _This_ wasn't generally part of the procedure, they both knew, when it came to subduing an inmate.

His fears are slightly calmed, or at least temporarily distracted when Fulbright takes hold of his arms. With lips still locked, Blackquill feels Fulbright lead him, lower him slowly on to the sofa they had previously been on. Sitting, now, Blackquill has a much better range with his cuffed hands, and he's able to rest a palm tentatively on Fulbright's upper thigh. This time, he does feel Fulbright flinch, though it's not away from him; the contact only surprises him, Blackquill decides, because he moans softly through rushed kisses.

A part of Blackquill is so inherently curious that he wants this act to go further, _much_ further, just to see what the detective is capable of... does he really harbor some sort of attraction towards him? He wants to grind his hips roughly into him, make him feel the emotions that have risen within him. Blackquill can't remember the last time he's been so excited, so overtaken by such unnameable instinct...

Things are definitely growing out of control, and Fulbright is well aware of this, just as much as he is.

Blackquill shifts in his position, to make a bold move he'd been calculating for quite some time now, but suddenly his lips are free and no longer being kissed. He frowns and grunts disapprovingly as he tries to bring his mind back to reality, though his body pines for more.

"Sir..." Fulbright almost sounds sad. His breathing is heavy, rugged. "I think... I think that's enough for today..."

"Silence," Blackquill says as he leans forward, closer; his advance is as hungry as it is predatory. "Are you _testing_ me, Fool Bright? It is clear to see that neither of us wish to stop..."

"Oh no, sir, I'm not denying that, certainly not," Fulbright replies, blushing. "I just think it's enough... for _today._ "

Flustered, Blackquill quickly pulls away and stands, facing away from him as he gathers his thoughts. He tries to rid himself of this selfish, unfulfilled tugging within him; he reminds himself that Fulbright is still worried about his obligations, undoubtedly, even at a time like this... _especially_ at a time like this, as Blackquill's luck would likely have it. Fulbright's feelings are relevant and much more important than his own impure desires to possess him. He doesn't say so aloud, but he can't deny that this _is_ an improper time to be fooling about when they're already late and unaccounted for.

He hears Fulbright echo his thoughts. "I'm still responsible for you, sir, and right now... you're _missing_ , and you've missed an important obligation, and... I'm the one who caused it. I don't... I don't want to lose my privilege of being in charge of you, sir...!"

Blackquill looks carefully at him over his shoulder. "Is that what this is about? I've already told you, I have this situation under control."

Fulbright looks hopeful, but he's pouting at the floor. "I know you do, I just..."

 _I just can't think straight right now._ Blackquill knows they are suffering from the same emptiness right now, and the same thoughts are plaguing them cruelly.

"I understand," Blackquill says, quietly. He's still trembling. "Give me a moment to compose myself, and we'll be off, then... if that is what you wish."

Fulbright nods, giving him a relieved smile as he leans back into the sofa with a sigh. Blackquill steals one last, significant look at him before returning his gaze to the wall.

They remain in complacent silence for the remainder of their time. When they both are decidedly ready to move on, though completely quiet, it's not awkward as Blackquill follows him to the door, waits patiently as he locks up, and they walk to the car. The ride back to prison is also silent, though occasionally Blackquill finds Fulbright stealing glances at him; when they lock eyes, he smiles, the way he always does. It's as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened between them, and Blackquill decides that maybe that's just how it is with Fulbright. He is somewhat thankful for this, as he isn't sure what to do with all these new feelings that have sprouted deep within him. He's ashamed, but intrigued all the same. Apparently Fulbright is allowing him to sort through his emotions on his own, however he sees fit.

It's a nice gesture, Blackquill decides.

* * *

When they finally arrive at the gates, Fulbright is himself again, and he seems to have regained his voice.

"What am I going to _do_ ," he chants in repetition, his face buried in his hands. "What if they cuff me on the spot, shoot me! Or worse, what if they _fire_ me...!"

"Yes, maybe you'll be my new cell mate," Blackquill calmly jokes, but he immediately realizes that such teasing has already flown over Fulbright's head and forces him further into panic. "Relax. Just do as I say, escort me inside, and we'll go from there, Fool Bright."

"Y-Yes sir," Fulbright says sadly, as they finally prepare themselves to enter. His head is bowed in shame, maybe even fear. Blackquill can see he is trying his best to appear normal—which in fact, is a feat all in itself—to no avail.

They minute they arrive in the designated area for death row inmates, they are bombarded by many armed men and an angry warden. Even with their guns aimed and steadied, it almost seems as if they're scared to approach them. Blackquill steadies himself; it has already begun.

"Detective Fulbright—where in the _hell_ have you been?!"

Fulbright winces, as if the jailer has backhanded him into submission with just his words. "S-Sir, please, I... I can explain...!"

"You bet your ass you'll be explaining things, we've had people on the lookout for you, trying to pinpoint your location for hours! Do you have any idea how late it is? Why hadn't you contacted us?! We thought that inmate of yours had killed you and escaped...!"

Blackquill glares, a scoff escaping his mouth. He sees Fulbright, too, tense at the notion. He's grown tired of being painted as such a petty villain, but it's already much too far out of his control. It's a part he now has to act accordingly to. If they want a villain, he'll have to continue giving them one.

Fulbright looks to him for help, but looks away just as quickly, as if he suddenly had a thought. "Sir, this has absolutely nothing to do with Prosecutor Blackquill, so please! I request that you hear me out, and leave him out of this."

The warden's eyes widen in disbelief. "You're telling me that the inmate had nothing to do with this, and that it's all _your_ fault that you were AWOL for a mandatory appointment scheduled for his presence, and that it's also _your_ fault enough time has passed to issue an investigation on your disappearance? Do you understand the incompetence coming out of your mouth and what it means, Detective?!"

Blackquill roots himself, waiting for the precise moment to strike. As much as it pains him to stand idly by, it is not yet his battle. Not _yet_.

"Yes, sir, I understand completely. I have lost sight of justice entirely in my duties today, and I accept my fate...!" Fulbright is practically orating now; Blackquill is almost impressed at how defeated he's pretending to be... or he can only _assume_ this is one of his dramatic ruses. With Fulbright, there is really no telling. "I don't deserve my job, or my title... here, take it...! Take my badg—"

Fulbright fumbles in a desperate attempt to search his holster until he pales, upon realization that he _still_ hasn't found his badge. The whole reason they were in this mess... _The badge_...!

Blackquill's moment has come; the time for drawing swords, the counterattack only a slash away between his opponents and his scabbard. He steps Fulbright aside, his movement alerting the security to take aim, in fear of his intentions. "We were in search of this missing badge." It's not a lie. "If you must question someone, perhaps you should question me."

Fulbright's eyes widen as he sees Blackquill pull the badge in question from his coat. He stares at it as if was the first time he'd seen it in years. "That's...!"

The warden steps closer, examining him. "A missing badge...? _That's_ what this is all about? And why the hell do you have it?"

"Sometimes you find the things you seek in places you least expect them." Blackquill shoots Fulbright a meaningful glance. "Isn't that right, Fool Bright?"

Fulbright shakes his head, confused. "N-no, wait, this can't be! Sir, please, I tell you it has nothing to do with him...!"

"I _clearly_ disagree," the warden snarls, stopping Fulbright in his tracks, also just as confused. "You both have a lot of explaining to do, especially _you_ , Blackquill."

"If you wish to question me further, I will spare no details."

Fulbright is looking rather pale, but Blackquill finds that the night's events have left him feeling playful and sly. The situation is now in his control, though as dire as it may be. Fulbright is still eyeing him apologetically, distraught. Blackquill hopes that he remembers the point of this exercise is to _trust him_.

"Fulbright," the Warden orders, "you're coming with _me_. Guards, take this prisoner to solitary. I'll deal with him later."

Blackquill has saved them, for the moment. He is certain that Fulbright must realize this by now, because as they are escorted separate ways, he looks back to see Fulbright glancing back to him, as well. He'll have to set his mind at ease about the badge later—as much as he wants to tell him he found the elusive badge hiding out in the sofa cushions while they were engaged in other _unrelated_ activities, now is not the time for such revelations.

Perhaps it's best, after all, that he keep that information to himself—for both their sakes.

* * *

 **[[A/N: This was written for _Emo Cowboy_ a while back and I forgot to post it here. Oops!]] **


End file.
